


Tension release

by ylc



Series: Of building tensions and their many consequences [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, a bad case of lack of communication, a little pining that we won't call pining, a little violence (hinted), very very mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-31 04:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: A failed Apocalypse is bound to create some (extra) tension between two opposing sides. If unchecked, unresolved tension can cause all sort of chaos.So better to find some way to relieve tension.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. I’ve said it a hundred times before, I think, but I really have no self control whatsoever. Historically, having more than one WIP at the time, rarely works out for me, but this plot bunny wouldn’t let go of me and I told myself I’d write it down and post it until it was finished. For once, my original plan more or less matched what I ended up writing and so it didn’t grow into a monster of epic proportions (if you don’t count the fact that I’m thinking of turning into a series and writing more, of course)  
So, anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

“Your gentleman has yet to arrive.”

Beelzebub makes their way towards their usual booth with just the slightest signal of acknowledgement towards the barman. They drop on their usual side of the booth, nodding distantly as one of the waiters places their usual order in front of them. They take a sip from their drink, fruity and entirely too sugary, exactly as they like it. The bar is small and dingy and the food isn’t the best, but they certainly make up for it with their drinks.

They look in the direction of the barman, raising their drink and the barman smiles, brimming with satisfaction. Here’s a man who takes pride in his job, Beelzebub thinks, something they don’t see often enough: of course they work with demons and you can’t expect demons to have the best of work ethics, but one should always take some pride on a job well done, they think.

They look around the bar, tapping their fingers against the table. The first time they came in here, they were sharply reminded why they avoided visiting Earth as often as possible: just as crowded as Hell, filled with stinky humans (not that demons are much better on that regard, mind). That was one of the many plus of the Apocalypse: the destruction of these troublesome, ridiculous, _ annoying _humans.

But, thanks to an ungrateful little _ brat _ , humans still populate most of Earth’s surface while a ridiculous amount of _ paperwork _ piles on top of Beelzebub’s desk. There should be a war going on, they should be fighting, coming up with cunning strategies to annihilate their enemies. And when the time came, they and a certain Archangel should have met again on a bloody battlefield for the promised showdown.

Instead, here they are, meeting for _ bloody drinks _ to discuss _ paperwork. _

They frown a little, as they recall the barman’s words when they entered. _ Your gentleman, _ he said, not _ the gentleman. _Beelzebub smirks, thinking Gabriel would certainly not appreciate the possessive pronoun and they merrily avoid thinking too much about their own feelings on the matter.

The Archangel is the Enemy and an incredibly annoying Enemy at that. Nothing more and nothing less.

They finish their drink, ordering another one to a nearby waiter while they chew on the too salty chips that were delivered a bit earlier. When, they wonder, did Gabriel become _ their _ gentleman in the eyes of the bar staff instead of just some random _ gentleman _?

Not that it matters of course, since the human’s appraisal of the situation is completely _ wrong _ . Gabriel is no gentleman in any shape or form: he’s an annoying torn on their side, who would smite them and tear the whole bar apart for the sake of it given half the chance. Neither is he _ theirs _and the thought shouldn’t sting half as much as it does, although of course that’s not the sort of thing that Beelzebub would admit, even to themselves.

They lean back on the booth, looking around the bar absentmindedly once more. There’s the usual crowd, which is to say, there’s the usual questionable patronage. A few are giving them considering looks and Beelzebub can’t help to roll their eyes. Humans are terribly stupid, with close to none survival instinct: given the opportunity, they’ll bed whatever human-shaped creature they encounter, nevermind the air of danger they might exude.

And yet, they think disdainfully, some demons fail to meet their Lust-quota. _ For shame _, really.

It’s lucky that, as a Prince of Hell, they have no quota to fill. They do not care for that particular kind of temptation, not if it involves humans, anyway. They’re not only stupid creatures, but also disgusting, infested with disease and nasty fluids and Beelzebub doesn’t think they could stomach their touch, not like that.

_ Your gentleman, _they think once more. Now that’s a temptation they’d be interested in performing.

Not that it could ever come to anything, of course. Some things are better off as abstract thoughts with no hope of materializing. It’s _ sinfully delicious _to fantasize about them, but it’s better for everyone involved that they remain in the realms of fantasy.

Their thoughts get interrupted as someone comes to sit in front of them. How they failed to notice Gabriel’s arrival is a bit worrying: they’re getting too used to the Archangel’s presence. That’s not only all kinds of dangerous, but also all kinds of foolish.

“You’re late,” they declare, noticing that at some point the waiter placed a new drink in front of them and they somehow managed to not notice that either. Troublesome, really. “Does your feather brain is having trouble remembering appointments?”

“Michael kept me,” Gabriel replies, a scowl marring his handsome features. “She kept going on and on about… _ something. _ ” He smiles pleasantly at the eager waitress that has just showed up, carrying his own choice of drink. Not that he ever actually drinks it, of course, but he believes on keeping up with appearances and Beelzebub suspects he enjoys watching the faces they make when they inevitably end up drinking the disgusting thing instead. _ Why _exactly they end up drinking it despite despising the taste of it is anyone’s guess; Beelzebub certainly doesn’t allow themselves to linger on the thought.

Beelzebub glares at the pretty waitress, who keeps bating her long eyelashes at Gabriel, completely oblivious to the Archangel’s clear disinterest. Humans, really. Why are they so desperate to mate _ all the time _? What’s the point in that? Animals they understand; there’s a biological urge to continue their species, but that never really seems to be a consideration when it comes to humans’ mating habits. 

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” they say, in their most threatening tone which has the side effect of scaring the waitress away. “I do have things to do, you know? Hell does not run itself.”

“And you think I don’t?” Gabriel snaps back, apparently forgetting himself enough to take a sip of his drink. Beelzebub opens their mouth to warn him before he actually does, but can only watch in fascination as the Archangel swallows, their stomach fluttering funnily, warmth spreading across their gut. “Oh good Lord, this is disgusting!” he exclaims, making a face and pushing the drink as far away from him as possible. “How can you stomach it?”

Beelzebub’s eyes drop the beer bottle, tracing the rim almost hungrily before pulling it towards them and placing their lips just where Gabriel’s were a few seconds ago, finishing it in one go, the foul taste barely registering over the rush of blood in their ears. “You get used to it,” they reply with a casual shrug.

“I sincerely doubt it,” Gabriel replies, lips twisted into a sneer and Beelzebub smirks, pleased with the other’s clear distaste.

“Nevermind that,” they say, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. “What’s bothering you, featherbrain? What could possibly be bothering you so much that you forgot for a second that you don’t sully your celestial body with human beverages?”

Gabriel’s back is a very straight line at the best of times and right now it looks ready to snap. Beelzebub leans even further forward, like a shark tasting blood, longing for a bite. “Nothing,” the Archangel replies and Beelzebub arches an eyebrow, incredulous.

“Lying, really? My, my, it must be something big indeed, if it has you, the _ most righteous _ of the Archangels, _ lying. _” They know Gabriel well by now and they do know how to lie a trap properly. Besides Archangels are ridiculously easy to trick: stroke their ego enough and they turn to putty in your hands.

“If you must know,” Gabriel begins after a brief pause, just as they knew he would. “I am tired. Things at work have been... _ stressful _ to say at least and everyone just keeps coming to me for answers, as if I had any. As if I knew anymore than they did.”

Ah, that’s a problem Beelzebub can relate to, even if they would never say it out loud. After the botched Apocalypse, hellish legions have been restless and everyone keeps looking at them for answers, making them all too aware of their own painful ignorance and forcing them to come up with answers on the spot so they might not lose (more) face.

They smile, remembering something. “Well, this might cheer you up,” they declare, an honest smile making its way to their lips. “There’s another Apocalypse in the making.”

“How so?” Gabriel asks, clearly curious, leaning forward too and Beelzebub ignores the way their stomach flip, seeing their faces are nearly touching now. All this _ fraternization _ is dangerous, they know, but it was a needed evil when they were sorting out the mess those _ traitors _ and the _ dratted child _created. It’s not strictly necessary now, they think, but their reasons to continue meeting with Gabriel are not something they wish to examine.

“There’ll be another child,” they whisper, their voice dropping to the point human ears can not pick it. “And this time, we’ll keep better track of him. We’ll send a whole team to watch over him and of course, all involved agents will be thoroughly surveyed.”

Gabriel nods, thoughtful but pleased. “That might be a wise idea,” he replies, leaning back once more and Beelzebub forces themselves not to react at the sudden movement. “I could send a couple of angels myself, make sure we miss nothing.”

“Not a fan of the idea,” Beelzebub argues, shaking their head. “Who is to say some angelic influence, no matter how indirect, might not corrupt the child’s inner evilness?”

“Fair enough,” Gabriel says, nodding. “Can’t believe we fell for that lie,” he mutters angrily, eyes narrowed as he thinks of certain traitor. “Played us for fools, he did.”

Beelzebub wishes they could gloat about Heaven’s ineptitude, but they have their own traitor to consider. “_ Nothing _will go wrong this time,” they declare sharply, “and there’ll be no traitors involved.”

Gabriel nods, taking his now empty beer bottle and raising it in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.” Beelzebub arches an eyebrow as the bottle refills itself and Gabriel takes another sip, his lips twisting in disgust once more but Beelzebub barely notices, distracted by the sudden acrobatics his unnecessary stomach has decided to perform.

Tonight is going very differently from what they originally envisioned.

* * *

“You still seem tense,” they say after a while, ordering yet another round of chips. They’ve found that alcohol is rather powerful on an empty stomach and they know better than to not keep their wits about them when dealing with an Archangel. Still, they want to look confident, self assured and that’s better achieved by engaging in human _ bonding _rituals, like drinking alcoholic beverages.

Human have funny ways of going about many things, but this one is universal enough and one of the few Beelzebub finds tolerable.

Gabriel hums, running his fingers through his hair and yet not messing it up in the slightest. It makes something within Beelzebub _ itch _ with the need to undo the Archangel’s perfect appearance, but that’d be a wildly unadvisable move. “Your news,” Gabriel begins, considering his words very carefully judging by the slight frown on his face. “--while welcome, don’t really solve much in the short term.”

Beelzebub scoffs. “There’s not much to do in the short term,” they argue, annoyance colouring their tone. “The traitors’ execution might have helped to release some tension but you know how that worked out.” Gabriel makes a face, unhappy and Beelzebub’s lips curve upwards. “Nothing to do for now but suck it and keep up with the paperwork.”

“Ugh,” Gabriel murmurs, face twisting in distress. “Don’t remind me. It seems that I do nothing but fill and file paperwork all day long.” He waves a hand, gesturing dramatically around them. “And all for what?” he demands to know. “There’s nothing to look forward anymore.”

Oh, doesn’t Beelzebub knows it. “As I said, there’s nothing for it,” they shrug non committedly, twirling their empty glass absentmindedly. “Unless you want to take it to upper management, that is.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Talking to the wall might prove more useful,” he says, full of annoyance, a second later realizing _ what _ he has just said and to _ whom _and he covers his mouth, expression horrified.

Beelzebub arches an eyebrow, amused. “Your secret is safe with me,” they promise and find that’s actually true. But Gabriel continues to look horrified and they figure they can offer something else. “And just so you know, I can totally relate.”

Gabriel huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, well… not everyone can have our work ethic,” he murmurs sulkily and Beelzebub hums in acknowledgement. “Don’t you-- It’s just--” he looks around, the guilty expression on his face a delight to watch. “Sometimes, I wish I could simply forget all about work. Do something else, find… find some way to blow off some steam that won’t have everyone questioning my sanity.”

“Well, you’re on Earth, feather brain,” Beelzebub says and rolls their eyes when Gabriel just stares at them uncomprehendingly. “You know, it’s as the old saying goes, _ what happens on Earth stays on Earth. _”

Gabriel frowns, leaning forward once more and Beelzebub can’t help the wave of smug satisfaction they suddenly feel. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you can find yourself something here,” Beelzebub replies, aiming to sound disinterested and wincing a bit at how badly they miss the mark. Gabriel however, doesn’t seem to notice.

“Like what?” the Archangel asks, sounding honestly puzzled and Beelzebub snorts.

“Oh, humans have all kind of things to release some tension. The horizontal mambo seems a favorite.” They smirk, pointing at a couple in one of the corners, who are doing their best to mate while keeping all their clothes on, ignoring both the disgusted and curious stares they’re getting. “Or the vertical one, as the case might be.”

Gabriel looks in the direction of the couple and Beelzebub expects him to look away in disgust right away but he doesn’t. In fact, he seems to be considering something and Beelzebub’s heart comes to an abrupt stop.

“Seems a little… messy,” Gabriel says finally, turning his attention back to Beelzebub and the Prince of Hell lets out the breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. “Besides, mixing with humans… I don’t know. Sounds like too much trouble. They’re so… don’t they get emotional about these things?”

“Some do,” Beelzebub says, trying their best to keep their voice from doing something funny. Gabriel is looking at them all weirdly, but intently and it’s making them feel self conscious. Archangels aren’t like humans, they won’t mate with someone just because it’s_ convenient _; in fact they don’t seem to mate all that often but the look on Gabriel’s face--

No. They need to backtrack fast.

“Oh!” they exclaim, as an idea pops into their head. It’s a good idea, truth be told and they can’t figure out how they didn’t think of it sooner, instead of suggesting the crudest option available. “I know where we can go,” they say, standing up and slamming more than enough money to cover their bill on the table. “Come on, featherbrain. We don’t want to be late.”

“Would it kill you to use my actual name just once?” Gabriel asks, tone dripping with fake annoyance but the eagerness of his steps betrays his real emotions and Beelzebub can’t help to smirk.

“Maybe one day,” they answer.

They don’t know it, but that day is closer than they believe.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a while since Beelzebub actually went out to explore the city, but cities never really change and some things are always in supply if you know where to look for them.

Street fights aren’t as popular as they once were, seeing now there are more _ legal _ sources of entertainment that involve enough blood and violence to satisfy most of the population, but they still exist. It’s good business for small crime groups and for bookies everywhere and despite the authorities’ best efforts ( _ the corrupt authorities, _Beelzebub thinks with a dark grin) they’ll never stop to be.

The fight circle they arrive into is well hidden, but Beelzebub has no trouble finding their way around and Gabriel stays close to them, hands occasionally reaching out when Beelzebub starts walking too fast or when too many humans get in the way.

“What exactly are we doing here?” the Archangel questions as they make their way through crowded corridors, desperately trying to avoid brushing against the humans. Beelzebub, well used to Hell’s own crowded halls doesn’t really mind, but from what they remember, Heaven is big on personal space.

It makes them question Gabriel’s tendency to get all touchy, but decides to leave the matter well alone for now.

“_ Releasing tension, _” they reply with a smirk, not bothering to look in their companion’s direction. They can imagine Gabriel’s puzzled expression well enough and that just makes them smirk wider.

They finally arrive to the front of crowd, where a man in an entirely too garish outfit stands, taking in the highest bets. Someone is going to loss big tonight, Beelzebub thinks, planting themselves in front of the man, arms crossed over their chest.

“We’re looking for the one in charge,” they declare, tone firm and confident. The man looks at them curiously, a lazy smirk spreading across his face as he takes in Beelzebub’s appearance. 

“And what business do you have with me, little one?”

Beelzebub rolls their eyes so hard it hurts. “We want in,” they reply easily and doesn’t have to look back to know Gabriel is looking as surprised as the man.

The human recovers from his surprise quickly enough though, letting out a loud laugh, his whole body shaking. The people surrounding them, those close enough to have heard the exchange laugh too and Beelzebub waits, as calmly as they can: for a demon, they've been told they're entirely too patient.

“Go home, kid,” the man tells them, waving a hand dismissively.

Beelzebub reaches up, grabbing the man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him towards them, expression calm. “I will not repeat myself,” they inform him calmly, as the man struggles to free himself. “I want in.”

“Beelz,” Gabriel warns and the Prince of Hell rolls their eyes. They do not care for nicknames, but the Archangel has a tendency to shorten their name when humans are within hearing-range. They understand it’s a very distinctive name and it makes humans feel wary right away, but that’s exactly how it’s supposed to work: names have power and it’s not Beelzebub’s fault the main Archangels’ names are so popular, while those belonging to Princes of Hell make humans suspect foul play.

From the corner of their eye, they notice several thugs start to move in their direction, ready to intervene and while they could get rid of them with ease, it would defeat their purpose.

“Fine,” they say, letting go of the man. “Is that a yes?"

The man doesn’t seem inclined to reply though and suddenly someone is gripping Beelzebub’s arm. The hand is big and meaty and not-Gabriel’s, therefore not allowed to touch them and so they grab it and squeeze hard enough to break every single bone.

The would-be-thug lets out a pained scream, but Beelzebub keeps their gaze fixed on their interlocutor. The man has paled considerably, so Beelzebub can well imagine just how big their “attacker” is and they smile, a smile that’s too much teeth and the man pales some more.

“Fine!” the man squeeks finally, sounding more than a little scared. “Is your friend participating too?”

Beelzebub smiles some more, turning to face Gabriel, who has watched the proceedings without any further intervenance, looking thoroughly amusement. “Sure,” the Archangel replies, smiling pleasantly. “Seems like jolly fun.”

Beelzebub rolls their eyes at the expression, but turns to face the human once more, one eyebrow raised. The man gulps, pointing them in the direction of the fighters’ waiting room and Beelzebub is pleased by how the crowd parts to give them space, everyone looking both terrified and excited.

Humans are such curious creatures.

Not an ounce of good sense in them.

* * *

It’s been ages since Beelzebub indulged in this particular… ah… _ form of entertainment. _Still, they doubt anything has really changed: one goes out, beats the opponent bloody, goes back to wait for their turn once more.

“But what are the rules?” Gabriel wants to know and the demon rolls their eyes for what feels like the hundredth time in the night.

“There are no rules,” they repeat, quickly growing frustrated. They might be the most patient of demons, but Gabriel would try even a saint’s patience. “The first one to knock the other out wins. The bloodier the better. If your opponent yields you’re expected to let them live.”

“You’re supposed to kill them?!” he exclaims, not sounding as horrified as he should, Beelzebub thinks. He’s a bloody angel, for crying out loud! He should care for the humans at least a little bit, shouldn’t he?

“No, I meant-- you’re supposed to stop beating them,” they clarify. “Try not to actually kill someone, that gets messy,” they decide to add, remembering a particularly _ nasty _ occasion. “You need to hold back a little. Humans are very fragile.”

“I know that,” Gabriel replies and Beelzebub arches an eyebrow, unbelieving. “I know it,” the Archangel repeats petulantly. “I’ll be careful. Careful-ish.”

That’s good enough, Beelzebub figures. “Fine. Now, clothes off.”

“I’m sorry? Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

Beelzebub rolls their eyes at the pathetic attempt of humor. “You know what I mean, featherbrain. You’re not actually going to fight dressed like that, are you?”

“I don’t see why not,” Gabriel argues and Beelzebub pinches the bridge of their nose. Sweet Satan, what a nightmare. “And it’s not like I have anything else with me.”

“Miracle it,” Beelzebub orders.

“No! That’d be a frivolous miracle and I’ll have you know we’ve got very strict rules against that.”

Once more, the Prince of Hell rolls their eyes. They look around, making sure the rest of the fighters aren’t paying them any mind and they snap their fingers, switching Gabriel’s and their own clothes for something more appropriate. Gabriel frowns, looking down at his outfit. “Won’t humans notice?” he asks, scrunching his nose in distaste, examining his pants fabric.

“Humans don’t notice anything,” Beelzebub replies with a shrug. Gabriel looks at them with a curious expression on his face, wanting to say something, the demon suspects but seems to think better of it. 

All for the best, Beelzebub thinks.

* * *

They step into the makeshift arena, the stink of blood, saliva and sweat filling their nose. Beelzebub smirks, feeling at ease and watches as their opponent make his way into the ring.

Their opponent is a big blurry man, at least twice as heavy as Beelzebub, probably an attempt on revenge at their earlier stunt. After the short confrontation, a smart human would have figured Beelzebub is much stronger than they look like, but the organizer ended up underestimating them all the same.

They know how their corporation looks like: small and fragile, delicate, _ harmless. _Judging by their opponent’s smirk, he’s probably thinking it’ll be an easy win. “A girl!” the man exclaims, facing the stands and Beelzebub can see their earlier interlocutor standing there, looking nervous. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

“I’m not a girl,” Beelzebub argues calmly and they’ve never understood humans’ obsession with gender. They didn’t use to be that obsessed, back in the good old days, but now it seems like a big deal. They’ve never bothered with one, although they know humans tend to perceive them as female. It’s the size, they think, and their general look, they’ve been told. “And even if I was, I don’t see what difference it would make.” 

“Foolish girl,” the man says and Beelzebub rolls their eyes. The man attacks, his fist connecting with the side of their face and he grins. Beelzebub smirks, knowing it’ll further cement their opponent’s belief of an easy win. They spare a quick look in the direction of the stands, where their earlier interlocutor seems to have relaxed and their smirk goes wider.

Their turn then.

* * *

What’s left of their opponent, once they’re done, needs to be carried out by two assistants, both looking terrified out of their mind and completely unwilling to get too close to them. The crowd, however, has gone wild, cheering for them, mad with bloodlust. Beelzebub finds Gabriel looking and while they didn’t expect the Archangel to look even slightly put off (bloody angels are just as bloodthirsty as any demon, although of course they would never admit it outloud), they do not expect the look he’s giving them. It makes their stomach flip, warmth spreading across their cheeks and they duck their head to hide their blush.

Bloody hell. What is Gabriel thinking, looking at them like that? There’s hunger in his gaze, the kind of hunger Beelzebub, being a demon, can very well understand and _ yet not. _ What the hell is the angel thinking, really?

They do not believe they want to know.

And yet--

* * *

Getting to actually watch Gabriel fight is a rare treat; last time they found each other in the battle field they were a little too busy trying to keep their head over their shoulders so it’s not like they could have stopped to stare, but watching him now Beelzebub thinks it’s a wonder they didn’t.

Satan, but he’s gorgeous like this.

He’s handsome enough, Beelzebub can admit and somewhat freely at that: there’s no harm on recognizing others attractiveness, especially when it leads to lust (even of the misplaced kind). But like this, drunk in battlelust, hair falling wildly, lip bloody-- it’s taking every bit of their self control not to throw themselves at him.

It’s also very educative, they think. When the time comes and the actual Final Battle takes place, they know who they’ll find themselves facing. It’s not precisely _ written _anywhere, but it’s an unspoken agreement among both Archangels and Lords of Hell.

Right now however, without the actual threat of painful death, they’re enjoying themselves immensely. They’re not cheering along with the crowd, of course, for that’d be beneath themselves and it’s not like Gabriel’s ego needs further stroking, but the sight leaves them breathless all the same.

As the fight ends, Gabriel’s opponent yielding, the Archangel turns, looking for them and offers them a wide grin, high on the adrenaline of the battle and it makes Beelzebub’s troublesome stomach flutter once more. They wish they could say this is in fact a new development, result of their own battlelust but they’d be lying and while demons can’t be expected to be honest, there’s no much point on lying to oneself. 

This, they think, was a bad idea.

But it’s too late for regrets.

* * *

“You were definitely onto something here,” Gabriel tells them, basically bouncing on their feet, their smile so bright it’s almost blinding. Beelzebub grunts, trying their best not to stare but Gabriel has shed his shirt at some point and all those muscles are very distracting. “You had done this before, I take it?”

“A few times,” Beelzebub replies, leaning their head against the wall and closing their eyes. The wall is cold and keeping their eyes closed seem like the wisest thing to do right now. “There’s only so many disposable demons one can kill before it becomes boring. Besides, they usually don’t even try to fight back.”

“Humans are so fragile,” Gabriel says, expression oddly fond. “Feisty, but so very fragile. So easy to break,” he looks delighted at the thought and Beelzebub huffs. And they are supposed to be the _ evil _one. “I feel so much more relaxed now. And there are a lot of bodily fluids involved, but I do think it’s less messy than mating.”

Beelzebub hums. “And just as fun, I should think.”

Gabriel nods, although he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Although if that’s the case, it begs the question why humans insist on mating at any given time instead of fighting.”

Beelzebub shrugs. It’s not something they’re particularly interested in. “I’ve never understood the appeal, but it must have some. I’ve been told it’s… enjoyable too.”

“Haven’t tried it yourself?”

The Prince of Hell snorts. “As if. I have standards, you know?” The look on Gabriel’s face is one difficult to decipher, but it makes Beelzebub’s stomach flip funnily. Luckily, before they can overthink it, the announcer calls their number and he’s onto his feet a second later. “My turn again. See you in a bit.”

Gabriel nods, although he seems distracted but the demon doesn’t allow themselves to linger, turning on their heel sharply and exiting the room. They’re not fleeing, they tell themselves, although it feels that way.

Funny, that.

* * *

It was rather inevitable that it’d end like this.

Humans could never hope to defeat them and of course by the end of the night it’s them and Gabriel standing in front of one another, getting ready to fight. They smirk, still high on blood and triumph and the Archangel returns the smirk, looking pleased.

One day, this battle will actually mean something. One day, the stakes will be high and winning will be the only acceptable result. But tonight it’s not even a rehearsal for the fight to come: it’s just a bit of fun between a couple of co-workers that are in desperate need of releasing some tension.

“Ready, fiend?” Gabriel questions, smugness in his tone and Beelzebub chuckles.

“Whenever you are, featherbrain.”

And then it’s on.

They’re pretty much even matched, truth be told. If this was the real thing, the odds would be that neither of them would survive. Things being what they are, neither are terribly concerned and so mistakes are made.

Beelzebub is distracted, they can admit as much. Gabriel is still not wearing a shirt and the sight of his naked chest is distracting in ways they don’t really want to think about. There’s a part of them that wants to pin the smug bastard down and beat that self satisfied smile off his face and there’s another part of them that wants to pin him down but for entirely different reasons.

Hell, but this is getting out of control. It’s been getting out of control for a long time, but they’ve continued to tell themselves it’s nothing they can’t handle. And that’s the truth, yes, but it also isn’t and when did it get so confusing, anyway?

Eventually, they’re both out of breath and energy, but neither is willing to surrender. It won’t be a victory, no matter who wins, both know it doesn’t really count and yet--

“Yield, fiend,” Gabriel says, or rather wheezes out, having managed to pin Beelzebub down. Pain radiates from all over their body, but they know they’ll be as good as new in a few hours and they do not wish to admit defeat.

Besides, they still have a couple of tricks under their sleeves.

“Never,” they say, perfectly calm and Gabriel frowns, his body shifting over Beelzebub just the slightest bit, adjusting his grip on their wrists and the demon sees their chance, moving so quickly it’s almost imperceptible to the human eye.

Above them, the crowd goes wild. “Yield,” they order, one hand keeping Gabriel’s in place, the other pressing softly over the the vulnerable skin of his abdomen.

Using their powers is cheating, of course, but Beelzebub is a demon and they can’t be expected not to cheat.

“That’s cheating,” Gabriel hisses, sucking in his abdomen to escape the burning tips of Beelzebub’s fingers. He doesn’t look particularly worried and he really should: how can he be sure Beelzebub won’t press their advantage now?

But he doesn’t look scared, he looks _ self assured _ and not because he’s the _ Archangel fucking Gabriel. _No, he’s calm because…

Oh. _ He trusts them. _

“I’m a demon,” the Prince of Hell argues with a smirk, to hide the way their insides are twisted with something akin to delight and terror simultaneously. “Yield.”

Defiant till the very end, Gabriel simply clenches his jaw and endures the pain. Beelzebub huffs, lazily tracing arcane circles over the Archangel’s stomach, enjoying having the other underneath them much more than they probably should despite the lingering feeling of _ wrongness _.

“I yield,” the Archangel says finally, skirming just the slightest bit and _ something _brushes against the demon’s backside. It can’t be what they’re thinking, though, although they quickly stand up, a little panicky.

“Was that so hard?” they ask, offering the other their hand to help him up. Gabriel attempts to glare, but the red on his cheeks diminishes the effect a little.

Something has shifted between them, as they regard one another warily. Beelzebub’s heart is beating madly against their ribcage, in a rhythm that would kill a regular human. The announcer has stepped into the ring and now they’re merrily proclaiming Beelzebub the winner and the crowd goes wild, cheering and applause the only sounds they can hear.

Gabriel dissapears of their sight as they get dragged along by humans that wish to congratulate them and in the case of those crazy enough to bet on them, to thank them. There’s a lot of noise and words get lost, but Beelzebub doesn’t mind, not right now. They do not wish to think, not now, not for the next couple of centuries if possible.

Something has changed.

They’re not sure what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
The last update should be ready some time next week. Hope you’ve enjoyed it so far ;)  
Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter! Enjoy!

Beelzebub manages to leave the fighting ring almost an hour later, a hefty sum of money in their pocket. They don’t need it and so they’ll throw it away later, but for now the weight of it feels oddly comforting.

It makes the whole thing feel a little more real. It happened and while it might mean nothing in the great scheme of things, they fought the  _ Archangel fucking Gabriel  _ and, more importantly,  _ they won. _

It doesn’t occur them to look for said Archangel, assuming he has already left; he must be back in Heaven, in his nice orderly office. They won’t gloat, they quietly determine: the next time the Archangel calls to arrange a meeting, they’ll act as if none of this had happened. They’re not sure, but they have the impression that might annoy the Archangel even more than any actual gloating.

They smirk a little at the thought, feeling light and content, still high on battlelust and victory.  _ An empty victory, but a victory all the same _ , they think and that must count for something, right?

Their thoughts get derailed as they get unceremoniously shoved against the wall. Their breath leave their lungs in a rush, but if they could, they’d laugh. Foolish humans, thinking they can rob them even after seeing how they beat bloody all their opponents at the ring.

Before they can contrattack though, they notice it’s not an human the one that has cornered them. “Didn’t take you for a sore loser,” they tease breathlessly, although that’s not entirely true. Angels are notoriously sore losers, although they would claim otherwise.

Gabriel doesn’t answer, instead going for something that steals Beelzebub’s breath in a whole different manner, leaving them reeling. They cling to the lapels of Gabriel’s suit jacket, a different one from the one he was wearing before their little aventure which make them question if they pop up to Heaven to change. That doesn’t seem terribly important, not right now, not when their knees are threatening to give under them, not when the world has shifted so dramatically.

In terms of strength, as their earlier fight just proved, they’re pretty even matched. But Beelzebub is much smaller and completely taken by surprise by the new developments, so they don’t even try to complain when the Archangel picks them up, pressing them even harder against the wall. It’s  _ delightful _ and  _ terrifying _ and they feel light headed.

“What-- what do you think you’re doing?” they finally manage to ask, hands resting on their companion’s chest and hell, it’s really a lovely chest, full of lovely muscles that Beelzebub has actually seen up close, although while there are currently more clothes involved, this feels much more intimate.

“I think that’s obvious,” the Archangel argues, diving in for another kiss. Well, Beelzebub guesses it is, but the real question is  _ why.  _ But the longer they keep kissing, the less important it seems, their only coherent thoughts being  _ yes, more  _ and  _ fuck yes. _

Well, they definitely didn’t see that one coming.

They aren’t complaining, though.

* * *

“I think,” Gabriel begins, some undefined time later and Beelzebub tries to silence him, because they definitely don’t want to talk  _ now.  _ Nor do they want to stop and think about that they’re doing because that way lies madness. “Beelz, listen,” the Archangel tries again and the demon groans, biting onto their companion’s lip, none-too-gently.

“Don’t call me that,” they hiss. “And no talking.”

“But--” the Archangel tries again and why is he so persistent? Ah, but  _ perseverance  _ is a Heavenly Virtue, although they’re not entirely sure it applies to this particular situation. “I think I’d like us to… ah, Beelz, listen… stop that please.” He makes the most lovely sounds and the pleading tone is delightful, but-- “I think we should take this somewhere private,” he finally manages. “Unlike humans, I don’t find the idea of mating out in the open entirely appealing.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ He wants-- he wants to--

They should leave now. They should disappear in a puff of smoke, go back to Hell and pretend none of this ever happened. They’re on the highway to sheer madness, this is asking for all sorts of trouble and while as a demon they  _ approve _ of trouble in a general sense, this seems--

“Should I miracle us a room?” they pant, their breath ghosting against their companion’s ear making him shiver. “Or would you like to do the honors?”

“Frivolous miracles, remember? Besides, how could I explain this one to Michael?”

Beelzebub can’t help the chuckle that escapes them, half actually amused, half hysterical.

That’s a good point.

* * *

The room they appear into is a modest one, in a smallish hotel close enough to the fight ring. It’s not glamours, a far cry from it actually, but it seems clean enough and that’s the most Beelzebub can do at the time.

“What?” they ask, when Gabriel pulls away to survey the room, nose scrunched in displeasure. “If you wanted the Ritz, you should have done the miracling,” they say petulantly, wondering if this was a bad idea after all, but next thing they know they’re stumbling into bed, a heavy and warm Archangel on top of them.

“This is more like it,” the Archangel says, towering above them and  _ fuck _ , the sight shouldn’t be half as alluring as it is. “You belong beneath me, fiend.”

“You wish,” Beelzebub spats, not really angry, not even properly  _ annoyed.  _ It’s hard to focus on anything that’s not the burning desire filling their whole body, the urge to get rid of their clothes as fast as possible.

It occurs them, distantly, that not only is this sheer madness, it doesn’t follow any logic. They were beating each other bloody just a while ago and yet here they are now, tugging at clothes and kissing desperately, bodies clashing together as they were supposed to do a few months ago, although in a distinctly different manner.

To stop thinking would be for the best and so they proceed to do just that. They continue kissing Gabriel, no finesse whatsoever, their lack of experience no doubt showing but it doesn’t seem like the Archangel minds. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing either, truth be told and so it’s sloopy,  _ messy  _ and it has no business feeling half as amazing as it does.

_ No wonder humans go for this sort of thing,  _ they think, letting out a cry of triumph when they manage to take Gabriel’s suit jacket off. It’s a slow process, to undress, particularly when hands keep wandering and neither is particularly keen on stopping the kissing to speed along the procedures.

The bruises from earlier are already fading, human’s bodies never strong enough to leave much of a mark. The ones Beelzebub themselves inflicted will take a little longer to heal and they take great pleasure in pressing their fingers against them, smirking as their companion hiss, half in pleasure, half in pain.

Their fingers come to rest over the slight burn marks on the other’s ribcage and they grin. Those won’t fade, even if Gabriel decides to change corporation: hellfire leaves a mark on the soul, or, as the case might be, in an angel’s very essence and they can’t deny their pleasure at knowing the Archangel has been marked by them.

They wish they could leave more marks, a sign of ownership of some kind, but Gabriel is unlikely to allow it and there’s no need to sour their encounter by getting into an argument, especially over something so  _ stupid.  _

Gabriel isn’t theirs, nevermind what their treacherous mind might hope for.

They snap their fingers, finally having gotten frustrated enough with the many clothes in between them and also in an effort to chase away those troublesome thoughts. The Archangel blinks, looking adorably confused and Beelzebub smirks. “I hope you didn’t simply disintegrate my clothes,” he tells them, very seriously. “Those were tailor-made.”

“You could always have new ones made,” they argue, running their fingers over their companion’s chest, enjoying the swift of muscles as he moves. Gabriel pouts and they roll their eyes. “They’re fine, I promise,” they murmur, one hand on the back of the other’s neck, pulling him close so they can kiss once more. “Now: less talk, more action.”

Gabriel looks ready to argue, which would be rather counterproductive, Beelzebub thinks and so they link their legs behind the archangel’s back, pulling their bodies flush together, their hips raising on their own accord searching for more friction. Gabriel makes a noise that makes Beelzebub grin some more, distantly wondering why they haven’t done this before.

It’s surprisingly easy, once you get the hang of it, but then, humans figured it out quite easily, so it couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, as many things when supernatural beings are involved, they simply are a certain way because they expect them to be. Both Gabriel and Beelzebub expect their bodies to fit together perfectly and so they do; the pleasure they feel comes both from their mutual conviction they’re supposed to find pleasure in the joining of bodies and the fact that they’re both enjoying it quite a lot.

“Gabriel,” they moan, urging the other to move closer,  _ deeper,  _ so close that it may be impossible to determine where one begins and the other ends and the Archangel complies happily enough, kissing them with infinite tenderness, their name (or a shorten version of it anyway) leaving his mouth in a breathy moan.

It’s not gentle, not really but it’s not entirely violent either: it’s not the clashing of bodies in a fight although it’s just as thrilling. It’s a different kind of fight, Beelzebub thinks, with its own set of rules and stakes: at the end though, there’ll be a victor and for the one who loses…

Well. Losing is never an option.

Like this though, it’s hard to remember the one on top of them is the Enemy, an Enemy that would not hesitate to smite them given half the chance and the feeling ought to be perfectly mutual, except Beelzebub is beginning to think that might not be the case. They knew they had grown  _ fond  _ of the Archangel, yes, but what they’re currently feeling--

Well, that goes a little beyond  _ fondness.  _

Although maybe that’s not the case. They’ve heard humans tend to get feelings confused, when sex becomes part of the equation. They’re a demon, of course and therefore superior to the human race, but there’s a chance (or that’s their hope, at the very least) that this particular weakness extends to demons too.

It’d certainly explain a lot of things, they think, a bit deliriously. 

It’ll make the whole ordeal a little less worrying if nothing else.

* * *

Considering how fond humans are of sex in general, it’s little wonder they’ve come up with so many clever ways to have it. Being supernatural beings with access to all the world’s knowledge with just a thought, they both are happy to go through a fair share of those clever ways, some more appealing that others, but all of them probably worth a try if nothing else.

Time, however, waits for no one. Angels and demons might not be ruled by the same natural laws as humans and so they have eternity stretching out in front of them, but as the night becomes day, their  _ business  _ must come to an end. Both will be missed at their respective offices if they simply disappear and the last thing either wants, is to raise any suspicions.

It’s not regret what they feel, Beelzebub tells themselves. Certainly not over the events that came to pass and even less for the fact that it must come to an end.

After all, there’s very little use for regret, as they’re all too aware.

* * *

They don’t exactly recall having fallen asleep, but they must have because the next time they open their eyes, light is pouring inside the room through the open curtains. A soft breeze comes through the open windows and they ignore the stab of  _ something  _ they feel after realizing just how empty the other side of the bed is.

_ It is what it is _ , they tell themselves. They’re enemies, after all and whatever sense of…  _ camaraderie  _ they’ve built over the last few months means nothing in the great scheme of things. It’d be foolish to think otherwise, downright  _ treacherous  _ to hope otherwise and yet--

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice comes from one of the corners of the room, where a small table with two chairs is. Gabriel sits on one of them, what looks like a laptop open in front of him, a look of concentration on his face. “I got us breakfast. Well, I got you breakfast since I don’t sully my celestial body with  _ this,” _ he waves a hand vaguely, pointing at the arrange of food sitting on the table.

_ But you’d sully your celestial body by lying with a Fallen. How curious. _

As much as they want to comment, as much as they want to pick up a fight, it doesn’t seem like a good idea. They feel raw for some reason,  _ vulnerable  _ and the fact that Gabriel  _ stayed _ , instead of leaving as they expected him to, only seems to add insult to the injury.

They sit up, stretching their arms over their head, back arching. Gabriel is looking prim and proper in a new suit while Beelzebub’s clothes remain gone after last night. They could, of course, miracle themselves something to wear, but they don’t see the point.

“Aren’t you going to dress?” Gabriel asks, aiming to sound disinterested and missing the mark entirely. Beelzebub smirks, noticing the way the Archangel is staring at them, his eyes flicking across their body, taking inventory of the marks that remain after last night.

“I haven’t got anything you didn’t get to see last night,” they reply flippantly, taking a seat in front of the Archangel, picking up a bit of toast. “This is quite a lot, you know? Gluttony is a Deadly Sin.”

Gabriel hums, turning his attention back to his laptop. “I simply didn’t know what to pick. And apparently it’s good manners to procure substance for one’s… sleep partner.”

“Been watching movies, haven’t you?” Beelzebub replies, amused. Gabriel doesn’t answer, but the slight pink tint of his cheeks is answer enough. The Prince of Hell grins deviously and promptly turns their attention back to the food since their stomach is starting to perform some unadvisable acrobatics.

“I think it’s best if I get going,” Gabriel declares after some time, most of the food now gone. “Heaven does not run itself and I’m concerned about what Michael might get up to if left unattended for long.”

“Of course,” Beelzebub replies, whipping their mouth clean with a napkin. “See you in a month?”

And this is the moment of truth. Gabriel will either deny their request, declare their association has run its course and that all this fraternization is getting dangerous or he’ll pretend none of this ever happened and they’ll get back to business as usual.

They do not know which scenario they’d prefer.

“Of course,” Gabriel replies flippantly and something in Beelzebub revolts at his casual tone, at his easy answer.  _ Why aren’t you affected?  _ they want to ask.  _ Don’t you care at all? _

They know the answer, of course. He does not care, either because he’s as much of an idiot as they’ve always thought or because this means nothing to him, because  _ it changes nothing _ .

Oh, but it does not change anything. Beelzebub has known that all along and they certainly don’t want anything to change--  _ this _ means nothing to them either.

“Goodbye,” they say, miracling themselves a fresh pot of coffee. “Until later, featherbrain.”

Gabriel huffs and starts heading for the door, seemingly having decided to handle this the human way. “Until next time,” he says, opening the door and leaving a second later, not looking back.

_ It changes nothing,  _ they tell themselves, pouring a new cup of coffee.

And that’s just the way they want it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
I’m not terribly good with open endings because-- well, they’re open endings :P I much prefer to round things up, but in this particular case, I think it works well enough :P  
Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
As I said, this is a bit on the short side, but I decided to break it into chapters anyway, mostly to give myself time to rethink the rest of it :P I feel like there’s some character’s development missing, but it was meant to be a short story, dammit!  
Anyway… let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!  
English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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